I swear Lawrence has purposefully been giving me the worst assignments since he asked me on a date last week and I turned him down. I didn’t say no because I find him repulsive, which I do. I just don’t date. I haven’t in ages. Not even casually. I have too many responsibilities and not enough time or energy to consider pursuing a relationship with any of the men I meet at work. It’s not like I get much opportunity to meet them anywhere else.
Already exhausted from working the night shift and humiliated by the dressing down that Lawrence just gave me, I wipe my eyes with shaking fingers. If I didn’t need this job so badly… It’s better not to think that way. I do need it, so there is no use crying about it. Grasping the handle of the room service cart firmly in my hands, I lean my weight into it and push it to the waiting elevator.
This is the second time today I’m having to deliver breakfast to Dr. and Mrs. Rosewood. They are horrible people but have apparently been celebrating their anniversary here since before Mr. Cerelli acquired the casino from his uncle and changed its name. You know the type. Dr. Rosewood is a plastic surgeon. His wife, I’m sure, was his patient before she married him. She is at least twenty years younger than he is, which makes her ten or fifteen years older than me. Of course, when I delivered their breakfast first thing this morning, absolutely nothing was right. According to her, the eggs were undercooked, the juice didn’t taste fresh-squeezed...probably because it wasn’t… we’re a casino, not some fancy-schmancy resort where we hand squeeze the OJ. It’s not like it’s cheap or sour. No one else ever complains about it.
Nothing she was dissatisfied about was my fault, but to people like the Rosewoods… well, they kill the messenger. Before I could even get back to the kitchen to request the replacement meal Mrs. Rosewood demanded, she had already called down and spoke to Lawrence. She blamed me, which in turn, gave him the kind of opening he thrives on. So, because somehow the kitchen messing up their order is my fault, I get to take up a new one. Including Bloody Marys that I’m paying for out of my own pocket for some reason. She threatened that I would pay, I guess this is what she meant.
I’m literally paying for the wealthy woman’s drinks.
It’s not like I make a lot of money doing these extra shifts since they end up being taxed higher. I do it for the tips, and since no one has been what you would call generous today, those drinks mean I’ll be going home without cash in my pocket. I have no doubt that Lawrence will make sure I pay Tina before I leave for the day.
I can’t help my small sigh of dismay as the elevator door whisks open silently. I won’t be stopping for coffee on my way home this afternoon, I guess. Mom will make some if I text her while I’m on the bus.
My usually cool temper is simmering just below the surface because Loser Larry could have just comped the bar tab for the drinks and let Mrs. Rosewood believe that she got one over on me. He does it for unhappy guests all the time. But no! This is just his way of punishing me for rejecting him. He’s such a … such a JERK!
Still fuming, I knock on the door to the Rosewood’s suite and mentally prepare myself for the attack that is sure to be coming. I don’t have to wait long.
“Well, well,” Mrs. Rosewood’s nasal voice grates over me as she flings the door open and glares at me, her hands fisted on her abundant hips. “I’m surprised that they let you come back since you are obviously too stupid for this job. You should just go back to scrubbing toilets,” she sneers, her red-painted lips curling in disgust while she looks me up and down. “It is where you people belong.”
She means because I’m Latina and I know it. Keeping my eyes lowered so she doesn’t see the pain and rage burning in them, I push inside on my wobbly heels.
“Yes, ma’am.” I reply quietly. I’m not going to engage with this witch. She can say what she wants. Right now, I wish I were back in housekeeping. Anything, even dirty toilets, are better than being subjected to this woman and her nastiness. Swiftly, I set the covered dishes on the table and remove the covers for her inspection before I take a step away.
A movement close by catches my eye and I turn my head ever so slightly. I can barely smother my gasp of disgust as the esteemed Dr. Rosewood struts into the room in nothing but a disgustingly tight, white speedo that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, much to my horror. A thick gold chain around his neck peeks out from the carpet of black and grey hair covering his chest and shoulders.
Oh my-Lanta! I think I’m going to be sick. This job is so not worth it. At least not today.
Embarrassed by the unseemly display, I look back toward the doctor’s snotty missus. She glares at me… again. It’s not as effective now that I’m getting used to it.
“Don’t you dare eyeball my husband, you little Mexican whore!” she shrieks, lunging towards me with her outstretched hands curled into blood-red tipped claws.
Someone has clearly been taking advantage of the minibar this morning. Seeing Dr. Rosewood in all his barely covered glory, I can’t say that I blame her for that.
“I’m not looking at your husband, ma’am. I’m just trying to set your table.” I say, dodging out of her reach and setting the last covered plate on the table. “Please call down to the kitchen if you need anything else.”
Her husband snickers, he knows that she is awful, his eyes crawl over my exposed legs lasciviously, making me feel like spiders are crawling over my skin. I back away from him and put the cart between us. This stupid uniform barely covers my butt and makes me uncomfortable in the best of circumstances. I’m way beyond uncomfortable. I need to get out of here. Now!
Keeping the cart in front of me as a shield, I rush to the door and open it, in a hurry to make my escape.
“Have a nice day, Sir. Ma’am.” I rush into the hall with Mrs. Rosewood screaming profanities at me as I close it behind me with an almost inaudible click. I lean against the door for a long moment, breathing hard like I just finished running a race. My stomach hurts and my hands are trembling uncontrollably. That was awful. If the rest of the day is like this, there is no way I’m going to make it to the end of my shift without breaking down in tears.
Chapter Three
Blake
I’m nursing another bourbon, along with a damn good burger and hand-cut fries from the kitchen, even though it’s still a little early for lunch. Tina, the goth bartender, has been chatting me up between pouring rounds for the rest of the patrons. Vegas is weird. I’ve never seen such blatant disregard for time of day when it comes to drinking, but since I’m guilty of it too, I’ll ignore it. Tina’s proven to be a pretty friendly person, once you get past her intimidating looks. It’s not every day you see a heavily-tatted and facially-pierced bartender in an upscale establishment like this, but her drinks and service are stellar, so I can understand why Xavier has her on staff. She is also very observant, which I imagine is a plus in her line of work.
In addition to the way she kept an eye on the situation in the kitchen earlier, I’ve also seen her cut off a group of frat boys who were bound to start problems. She gave them a cab voucher and a tip about an off-the-strip club that is hosting some sports thing and they were more than happy to take their party somewhere else.
She’s between customers again and heads my way with a small smile on her purple lips. If I hadn’t just found my angel, I’d probably engage in some subtle flirtation, even though she isn’t really my type, but nothing more than that. Now, there’s no way that’s going to happen.
“What’s the story on the big guy?” I ask when she leans on the counter across from me, gesturing toward the man who dared to make my angel cry. He’s across the room, standing too close to a waitress who keeps glancing around like she is waiting for the first opportunity to escape. Tina rolls her eyes and huffs out a sound that’s either repugnance or exasperation. I can’t tell if it’s him, or me being obvious in my interest in the angel, that’s annoying her.
“That’s Lawrence. He’s the manager of the café and this place,” she slaps a hand dow
n on the bar top. “He’s a douche.” She says matter-of-factly, but at least now I know it was him and not me she was rolling her eyes about.
“Yeah, I noticed that. He was pretty pissed at the waitress he was talking to.” She smirks reading the interest behind my words, so much for not being obvious, but then her face softens.
“That was Elinor. She’s the sweetest little thing. Hard worker too.” She bends and picks up a wet cloth and absently starts to wipe the counter ending the conversation. Part of me hates that she isn’t going to tell me anything else, but an even bigger part of me appreciates it. I wouldn’t want just anyone to ask a couple questions and get information on her. On Elinor. My Elinor.
I go back to eating my burger, half-listening to Tina as she starts talking about her other job. She also tends bar at a burlesque club off the strip called Tassels. It’s more of a locals-only sort of place from the sound of it, but I still have zero interest in it. Even if I hadn’t just found the woman I want, strip clubs have never been my scene.
“You should come check it out while you are in town,” she invites. “I’m usually there on the weekends, even if I’m not working.”
I nod absently, my mind on Elinor and what it’s going to take to get introduced to her. Tina must take my nod as an agreement because she slips a business card onto the bar beside me.
“My number is on the back.” She winks with a provocative twist of her dark purple lips, tapping a long black fingernail on the card, before sauntering away toward her newest patron. Flipping the card over I see that in addition to her name and number she has also written down her address and a note telling me to swing by after her shift ends tonight.
As nice as she is, that’s not an offer I will be taking her up on. Even if I was in the market for that kind of company tonight, it wouldn’t be with someone who obviously does this kind of thing on the regular. Why else would she have a card with her info on it already? That’s not my idea of a good time. Never has been.
I’m dragging the last of my fries through the small bowl of ranch dressing beside my plate when I see the hostess on the phone at her podium gesturing for Lawrence. The young woman he had cornered visibly relaxes and hurries away from him. When he gets close enough to take the phone from the hostess’s hand she scoots as far from him as her small workstation allows. He crowds in behind the podium, getting closer to her, and even from across the room, I can see her cringe. This guy is a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. At the very least. There is no way that I’m not going to mention his shitty behavior to Xavier. I can’t help but wonder if anyone has told him what’s going on. I wouldn’t want a slime-ball like that working for me and can only imagine that X wouldn’t either.
Lawrence is only on the phone for a minute before he slams it down and storms back into the kitchen. This time when he starts yelling his voice comes through crystal clear. I adjust my position so that I can see them, ready to intervene if necessary.
“Elinor! I just spoke to Mrs. Rosewood. Again, Elinor!” His voice is accusatory, like she did something wrong and it’s up to him to correct her behavior. “They are very displeased with your lack of customer service skills.” His booming voice carries into the bar that is experiencing something of a lull. I hope they can’t hear him in the cafe too. Where no one could hear him berating her earlier, everyone can hear him now. Several bar patrons swivel in their seats trying to see what the commotion is all about.
Her response is so softly spoken that I can’t hear it, but his booms through the shocked silence. “You can’t go into guests’ rooms and act like a little slut in heat!” He shouts, and any remaining chatter in the bar quiets instantly. It’s almost eerie how silent it gets. Quiet enough that I can finally hear her voice. It’s small and shaking as she stands up to the man bullying her.
“I did no such thing! I delivered the food that you sent me to deliver. I can’t help it that Mrs. Rosewood is a drunk and Dr. Rosewood came out of the bedroom dressed in a flipping Speedo! I kept my eyes on the floor and did my job! That woman is lying!”
His next words shock me with the vitriol behind them. “We all know what a slut you are, Elinor. You’ve got that brat at home with no dad, and…” She raises a wobbly hand, cutting off his words.
“You do not know anything about Augustus, or his father, or me!” she bites, her voice cold and hard. Gone is the meek woman and in her place is an angry mama bear. I have hazy memories of my own mother being like that, years ago before she got sick.
“You have no idea what you are talking about, Lawrence.” There is steel in her softly spoken words, and I’m inordinately proud of her for not taking the bully’s shit. Underneath her meek exterior beats the heart of a fighter.
Her victory doesn’t last long though.
“Whatever,” he spits, “in addition to paying for the Rosewood’s drinks today you will also pay for their meal this morning as an apology for your unprofessional behavior, Elinor. You can give the money to me now or go pay the cashier.”
His hand is gripping her arm, making her wince as he propels her toward the doorway near where I’m seated. His face is filled with smug pleasure while hers looks sickened by his allegations and unreasonable decree.
“Lawrence, I… I... I can’t afford that.” She stammers, pale-faced and openly distressed.
“You should have thought of that before you went up there and acted like trash. I should have known better than to let you on my staff.” His words infuriate me, even before she speaks, her voice small again, cowed by his harsh attitude.
“Lawrence, please,” she pleads. “Their tab will be at least a couple hundred dollars.” I can hear the tears in her voice and I can’t help but wonder what the hell kind of breakfast the Rosewoods were enjoying this morning.
“Not my problem,” he snaps, pushing past her and rushing by me. “Fucking cunt, that’ll show you,” he mumbles under his breath, thinking no one will hear him, but I do. The urge to chase him down and beat his ass into a bloody pulp for tormenting her takes every ounce of my military training and self-control.
Tina’s black rimmed eyes speak volumes when they meet mine as she hurries past me and into the kitchen where Elinor is standing, huge tears rolling down her face while her shoulders shake with silent sobs. I watch, wanting to push her out of the way, while Tina wraps her in a hug, smoothing her hand over her long dark ponytail and murmuring comfortingly to her. Her pain rips at my heart and I know that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make things better for her.
A few minutes later Elinor wipes her face with a white towel that someone behind her presses into her hand and Tina returns to her post at the bar. I motion her over to me. “That was fucked up,” I say when she approaches me.
“Told ya that he’s a douche,” she responds, a look of loathing on her face. “The Rosewoods are wretched people. They come here every year and treat everyone like crap. Loser Larry knows better than to send a pretty girl up to their room while they are here.”
“Yeah?” I ask, hoping she will keep talking.
“Yeah. The good doctor hits on every woman in sight and his bitch of a wife pretends it’s their fault. Sending Ellie up there was asking for trouble, in so many ways, and he knew it.”
Ellie. I like it…almost as much as I like Elinor.
“I will be making sure that Xavier knows about this.” I blatantly name-drop, knowing that the word will spread amongst the staff. Her eyes widen in surprise, probably remembering the way that she unashamedly propositioned me and wondering what kind of impact it might have on her job. “When she is feeling up to it, have Ellie clear my dishes please.” I slip her a fifty as a tip. She grins, pocketing the cash and poking her head back into the kitchen.
“Ells, can you come and give me a hand when you’re ready?" I hear her ask gently, followed by the sound of Ellie’s watery voice agreeing. Steeling myself for the impact of her sad face, I wait for her to come out.
It isn’t long before she does. Her
golden skin is blotchy from her tears, her eyes and nose are red. She’s still the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. She slips behind the bar, her head lowered in shame while she waits for Tina to give her instructions. I hate seeing her look so defeated.
It’s gotten busy again, and I hadn’t even noticed. For several minutes Tina has her running drinks and food out to tables, helping the other waitresses. I sit back, watching as she bustles around, fending off handsy customers and making small talk while she takes orders.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she approaches me with a sad, tired smile.
“Hi.” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper, and I find myself leaning closer to her, not wanting to miss a single syllable falling from her lush pink lips.
“Can I get you anything else?” She efficiently gathers my empty plate and rocks glass, waiting for my response.
“Coffee, please.” I’ve had more than enough alcohol for so early in the day. She looks up shyly into my eyes with a little smile, making my pulse pound heavily through my veins.
“We have fresh cherry pie that just came out of the oven.” She offers, looking down at the dishes in her hands.
“I would love a piece of your cherry pie,” I tell her, truthfully. “Can you take a break and join me?”
Her eyes jump back to mine, wide with surprise. “Oh no, sir. I couldn’t,” She takes a step backward, her gaze lingering. “But I will go get a piece for you. Ice cream or whipped cream?” she asks.
“Ice cream.” I tell her as she turns away.
Can’t blame a guy for trying.
Chapter Four
Ellie
I don’t waste any time pouring the biggest cup I can find full of coffee for the broad-shouldered man at the bar, along with a still steaming slice of pie. The scoop of vanilla bean ice cream is already melting next to it. My cheeks feel as warm as the pie. The way his forest green gaze smoldered when I offered him cherry pie took me by surprise. I can’t help shaking my head at my own ridiculousness. Of all things to blurt out… I didn’t mean to say something inappropriate. Ana always told me to be careful about how I say things, because even though I mean them innocently, they aren’t always taken that way.
Embracing Ellie: K&S Securities Series Page 2
